The Governor Of Michigan Presents: Shindizzle

A Test Of Character With An Open Bar and Upscale Buffet.

I think people are reluctant to give themselves obstacles to overcome. I think that to develop as human beings that we need tests that force us to have a moment of perhaps ugly honesty. Truth liberates us from the obstacles of a socially constructed world. In other words, a cycle of antibiotics beats unusual penile discharge any day.

What does this have to do with the Governor’s New Years Eve ball? Less than what you might think.

For the first time in years I was hard up for New Years Eve plans. In 2005 I had at least half a dozen competing invitations. Before that I had to work it out with various girlfriends as to which of our numerous invites we would indulge. I was fortunate that my single timely New Years Eve 2006 invitation was one that could hardly beat out any other. I was presented with an opportunity to attend the newly re-elected Democratic Governor's New Years Eve ball.

You might say "Dave, that makes sense to me, because you have done a lot in politics. You ran a respectable campaign for State Senate, and the folks in Lansing know you, so I can see how you received an invitation to this swank event."

Then I would pretend for a few moments that such was actually the case. You see, being a temperamental idealist during my work in the legislature and on the campaign pretty much moved me from the A (okay, C) list to the Black List.

I did however still have connections. I'd like to quote Garth Brooks and say that "I have friends in low places", but I think that would entail attending some sort of NASCAR event, which is out of the question. In addition it would be unfair to my Latino Muslim friend, Steven, to say that he is in a low place. After all, Steven was invited and I wasn't. Steven was my intern when I ran a legislative office at the state legislature. He was my nervous energied bitch a cubicle away. He was enthusiastically ready to write a tribute for some old hag's 81st birthday and have me go over it with a red pen a dozen times to get the writing up to a level of bloviating magniloquence that would make Nietzsche and each of the authors of the Gospels blush all at once.

The reason I call him (and always introduce him as) "My Latino Muslim friend Steven" is because such is my favorite rhetorical prop. In addition, I don't know any other Latino Muslims. He is a kind and humble fellow that endures my extremely crass nature. He gets slightly miffed when I call a group of regular looking ladies "chubby bitches", which I do just to get a rise out of him. Strangely he gets less miffed when I suggest to him that he "renounce Islam for the evening and enjoy the booze and loose women."*

*I hope that these remarks get me on Al-Qaedas hit-list

Steven found a loophole in the Governor's invitation system that allowed him to see to it that several of his less connected friends could attend the event. The best thing about him is that he doesn't give a shit about the world of the Lansing establishment. There was a possible risk to his career in politics, which is especially remarkable because Steven had way less luck than I did landing political jobs early on in his career. He displayed a combination of balls and audacity that I have come to call "Balldacity."**

** A Google search tells me that this term has been coined by Stephen Colbert.

An excerpt from an email exchange demonstrates our collective and cautious optimism about whether or not Steven's plan would work. One of Steven's friends, Rob said

"As you know, we've used a roundabout method to gain admittance to the
governor's New Year's Eve party. Because of this, it has always been
understood that we might be turned away at the door."

To which I replied,

Remember: There was always the possibility that we would not get in. At worst, we will be well dressed, and instead of paying at the cash bar (?*)*** we will have to make the much thriftier purchase of booze at East Lansing area bars and alcohol distributors.

(*)By the way, I was under the impression that it would be an open bar, but I am going to assume that Steven's Islamo-Fasicst Trotskyite Mexican Nationalist ways, that he didn't know the differences, or feigned ignorance to pique my interest.

*** I have come to realise that I have a sudden asterisk fetish.

To which I added,

And if they don't let us in, I will send out a press release where Governor Granholm, on behalf of the State of Michigan, expresses sadness for the death of the "benevolent and courageous ruler" Saddam Hussein.

I will just take the Gerald Ford press release and Find & Replace "Gerald Ford" with "Saddam Hussein" and "expresses gratitude for the courageous pardon of Richard M. Nixon" to "expresses gratitude to the genocidal massacre of a Kurdish village."

Everyone thought that I was joking.

For my date that evening I had picked my debate friend Sarah. Numerous folks have asked if we are "together" and the answer is no. To me she is like a similarly-aged sister and beer buddy, this relationship has developed much since we each graduated college. She was also hard up for NYE plans and we had made a commitment up to a month ago that if one of us came upon good plans that the other would be included.

I offered to be the first person to go into the Big Ten room at the Kellogg Center in East Lansing, where the ball was being held. I have had experience getting into concerts, political events, and family reunions and other such events with high security. Also, I looked at this as a test of my standing in the Democratic party.

Sarah and I drove into the Kellogg Center parking lot, and I parked poorly. This is where I ran into Steven and Frank. We walked to Shindizzle Crash H.Q. (room 202) together. They heard bottles of beer clinking in my pocket. I brought such with me because of the news that it would be a cash bar and not an open bar. It occured to me that as I was seeking out a test of my prestige and I was carrying LaBatt's in my pockets like a Frat boy.

The meeting in room 202 was a surreal experience for Sarah, because a number of people appeared to be glad to see me. One fellow said "It's good to finally to meet you in person." Someone else remarked "Oh, you're the guy who. . ", and so on. It was genuine kindness and affection, but it sounds way more impressive than it actually is. Sarah had confused my Internet pseudo-celebritydom for actual status.

She and I went down stairs to the Big Ten room. We saw many in suits and elegant people. We walked in and someone yelled 'Hey!"

Great. We're busted.

"You have to check in." They added. Surely the Governor's party planning office had developed sophisticated means to filter out yahoos, rif raf and vagabonds.

"Name?" a woman asked. "David [omitted] and guest".

The woman searched through the list of names. "Alright, enjoy your evening." She said as a fellow I recognised as a Senate page handed each of us some poorly made I.D. badges.

We were in! But now there was another test. How much is the cash bar in a place like this?

Sarah and I went to the bar, and she asked for a red wine, and I asked for a beer. I chose a Heineken. The nice woman dressed in black and white poured our drinks. She handed them to us and we walked away. This is an open bar! My brain set free a cascade of endoprhins. Whilst on this high, I called Steven and let him know that its AOK and how they check in. Steven asked ". . .they want to know, what is the bar situation?" "Open." I said.

Sarah and I munched on a buffet of crab puffs, fresh fruit, and sandwiches with high end deli meats. We looked at each other and we had uncontrollable smiles, as neither of us had grown up in much comfort appreciated the free food. Also, each of us with borderline substance abuse problems, which we describe as "a propensity toward youthful indulgence." We were especially happy about the open bar. I was a little worried because the last time Sarah and I were at an open bar event, she ended up in a situation in which she couldn't get her own pants on.

Soon we joined up with others. The truth is that having gained admittance into this event was not at all a test of my prestige, but a test of Steven's which he passed. Given his iconoclastic ways, I figured that he would contain his pride with a cool demeanor, and he did for the rest of the evening. Steven has since developed a messianic complex in which he is convinced that he is the nexus of the universe. He even has a Facebook group devoted to this.

Frank is another fellow I admire because he just doesn't give a shit about what anyone thinks. The first time I saw Frank he was walking around with about 60 Muppet key-chains on his backpack. He looks like a combination between Orson Wells and an extra from One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. He has a droll sense of humor and a instantly lovable aspect about him. Last I knew Frank he was a bit of a tea-totaler. Now the only thing that he totals is his liver, with booze. Frank started out with White Russians which he mixed with Jack and Cokes and various other cocktails. He kept going back to White Russians throughout the night and I said to him, "You're going to puke." Frank said back to me with polite confidence "I'm not going to puke." I said "Not only are you going to puke up that White Russian, but you are going to puke up the entire Warsaw Pact." I was impressed that he and his friend Megan appeared to get that joke, and I was at that moment pleased that I was with good company.

Throughout the evening I had run into and chatted with numerous people that I knew in politics when I was still at the capitol, including one Governor Jennifer Granholm.**** Sarah and I posed with the Governor in a shot where I famously cropped Sarah out for no apparent reason other than the photo makes me look more important. In the photo it is visible that I have had over half-a-dozen beers. Some people think that the Governor looks high in the photo. I have told several people that the Governor smoked weed with us out back. I report that she said "Hey look, I am term limited. If I wanna smoke weed, I'm gonna smoke weed, you know what I'm sayinz?"

**** Indisputably the worlds most pretty Governor ever.

Frank told me that I should dance. I knew this was a bad idea, so I decided to drink more beer until I thought that it was a good idea. This resulted in a bizarre corner of the dance floor that included me, Frank, Megan, Sarah, and a couple of important looking gay men.

With Megan, who is a Republican-Methodist-Sartre Quoting French major with red hair, I had an impromptu Salsa-Tango fusion dance to Buster Poindexter's "Hot Hot Hot" I was way too gone to know what I looked like, but Megan described it "hilariousness." Ouch.

Here was the countdown, with Carson Daily and a miserable looking Dick Clark. Champagne flutes in hand, we ushered in the New Year. This was the first time in a while I didn't have a New Year's kiss. I am not sentimental enough to take that too hard, and besides I was still too much of a gentleman to grab a strange woman like I was a sailor on V-Day. Actually, it was just that I was coherent enough to fear getting slapped. I muttered to myself, "When Germany surrenders, so will they. . ."

". . .and then I will administer my Marshall Plan in their beds." I added with an irrational sense of confidence and a clear detachment from reality.

As the room spun out of control,(which I attribute to an issue with the building's foundation) I told Frank that he was going to puke. "I'm not going to puke." He replied softly as I downed my third flute of champagne. As I went back to the bar he came with me and said "I am going to drink whatever you're drinking." I tried to think of what would cause him to barf without causing me to barf.

I half jokingly asked the bartender for a "Lawnmower". Frank said "You have to order drinks that exist." The bartender asked me "What's in that?" "Wheat grass juice and vodka." I told him. He responded with a surprising lack of condescension, "We don't have wheat grass juice." With a partially genuine sadness I said, "Two triple Jack and Cokes please." "Whoa." said Frank and the Bartender said collectively.

Frank and I clinked glasses, and he downed his triple Jack and Coke in less than a minute. I was a quarter of the way through. Eventually I had to pound mine with a beer chaser, which was in actuality less amazing than Frank's feat, but it was more visually impressive to others given that I was holding a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other.

It was about 1:30 and the party was winding down. Sarah has remarked that I was lucky to have been walking. Back in Crash H.Q, I was basically an ornery bastard where I think I had a conversation with Rob and a fellow named Eric about the 2008 Presidential race. I had petted Steven's head and I told him that "It felt like my brothers chiuaua." He had a very unamused scowl, but I think I did it less so as a joke and more so of a tribute to my brothers chiuaua. If he had been drunk he probably would have punched me in the face and had broken my jaw. I would have deserved it.

Sarah, who is known for her destructive drunken debauchery, was in driving condition. She had informed me that it was time to go.

Going into this New Year's Eve I was saddened that I could not spend it with old friends from years past. I was however pleased that I had made some new ones.

The moral of the story however is that Frank didn't puke—

Not this time.

*I hope these remarks get me on Al-Qaedas hit-list
** A Google search tells me that this term has been coined by Stephen Colbert.
*** I have come to realise that I have a sudden asterisk fetish.
**** Indisputably the worlds most pretty Governor ever.